A Necassary Affair
by tropicana-e
Summary: J.F. Villefort finds solace in a young servant. OC
1. Chapter 1

**An Necessary Affair**

"My God." The gentleman moaned from his desk, lifting his freshly completed work only to find dozens more documents to be completed...read over...signed. Prosecutor Villefort was not a man who procrastinated nor was he of the dilatory sort, but even so, he was not a man who had the luxury of enjoying his work. Truthfully, he had never done anything he truly enjoyed from the time he was a boy, spending his time apprenticing for the newspaper while his friends courted the young ladies and attended various social gatherings.

His career had, at very least, thrilled him in his more youthful days in the courtroom. But it was mindnumbing now, almost depressing, going over declarations of crimes committed, questioning men brought up on charges, arguing cases, sending those same men off to imprisonment, away from their homes and families...possibly innocent men.

He enjoyed being unmatched in his skill, being acknowledged and praised for his practice by peers and strangers alike, but nothing more. That and the reputation his career bestowed on him were indeed all that kept him at it.

He exhaled heavily, pressing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. His workload had been even more stressful as of late, for whatever reason. He felt starved...so much so that it drove him to distraction. More than once that morning he had found himself fiddling with his nails or his pen...or simply admiring the patterns of his jacket. He looked down at it again, feeling the clothing between his fingers. It baffled him how anyone could work such intricate designs into such thick fabric.

"Monsieur?"

His eyes flashed up from his jacket to the small voice in front of him and its source. He cleared his throat and his back immediately straightened, seeing the young servant girl in the doorway. She gave him a slightly curious look, but she knew better than to ask him what he had been doing fingering the insides of his jacket when he obviously had more important matters to tend to.

"Maribel," he surprised both the girl and himself when he heard the excitement in his voice, "Come in, my girl, why on earth are you standing in the hallway?" He caught himself grinning when the girl looked around as if she were unaware that she was indeed outside of the doorway. She stepped in timidly, now just barely in the arch of the doorframe.

"Madame Claudette asks where you would like your tea." She spoke again through her heavy french accent, having it almost echo behind her despite her quiet speaking. He hummed through a smirk at her behavior. She was only ever comfortable around his wife since she had come into their service. She could not even bring herself to look directly at him.

"Maribel," He spoke again, placing his pen down and lacing his fingers together on his desk, "Tell me, do I frighten you, child?"

"Pardon, monsieur?" He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself.

"Come in, my dear," he said, "It's far too bright in here, I can hardly see you." She looked quickly at the hand beckoning to her and stepped further into the large study. "Closer my girl," he continued to gesture for the girl to come nearer until she was finally in front of him, directly in the sunlight that streamed from the window at his back. "There, now. Was that so hard?"

She shook her head. He took a moment to look her over. She was magnificent with the sun bathing her as it was now, lighting her coffee skin to a brilliant golden hue.

"Now I can ask you again." He leaned back in his chair, "Are you frightened by me?" He waited for her answer but there was none. She stood mute, darting her eyes around the study and trying to control her breathing. He pushed his chair back and stood from it, all the while looking her directly in her eyes. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides, stopping with his hands behind him.

"My dear..." He said sorrowfully, circling her, "How long have you worked for my wife and myself?"

"Troi mois." She answered hesitantly once he was behind her.

"Three months," He echoed, "And in those three months you've been in my service, have I ever crossed you?" She shook her head vigorously before he had even completed the question.

"Non! Non, monsieur!"

"I've never mistreated you in any way?"

"Non, monsieur." His gaze moved lower on her, seeing her petite ankles. She had grown out of her skirts. He'd have to see that something was done to fix that.

"No," he agreed, stopping in front of her and having to cast his eyes down to look her in her face, "Nor will I. You've no need to ever fear me, my dear girl. I would no sooner harm you than harm myself." He smiled warmly at her, watching her tilt her head to meet his gaze. He stayed that way above her for several moments before pivoting on his heel and returning to his desk.

"Tell Claudette to nevermind my tea. I'm in no position to stop my work, eating now will only serve as a distraction." He said before returning to his previous doings.

"Mais monsieur..." Villefort looked up from his papers, seeing the girl standing in the same spot.

"Yes, what is it?"

She looked down and played with her hands when he looked up. With anyone else he would have quickly grown impatient, but he smiled when he saw that she was at a loss for words. "Something is troubling you."

"You have not eaten today, monsieur. It is well past noon."

Villefort creased his brow, but was all the more intrigued. His wife did not even show this concern when he skipped meals, which was a regular occurrence. His eyebrows rose when he saw her blush at her own words, her skin just light enough to show the reddening in her cheeks. Valentina certainly never blushed at him anymore. In fact she never had at all, even during their courting. His back straightened against his chair and he toyed with pen between his hands.

"Would... you be more at ease if I were to eat now, Maribel?"

"Oui, monsieur...something."

Again he exhaled deeply, leaning back in his seat. "Very well," He complied, gauging her for her reaction. His intrigue increased greatly when he saw how relief and worry flitted swiftly across her features to be replaced once more with her blushing, "Would you care to join me?"

She jolted at his question, her eyes nearly doubling in size apparently at the thought of sitting with her master, "Feel free to say 'no' if you are uncomfortable, I don't mind dining alone." He answered honestly, he had actually grown accustomed to it before he was married. His social life was nearly nonexistant while in school for law and for his first few years in practice.

"Where has Madame Villefort gone?" She asked before thinking. He was taken aback by her boldness, but he could see it was clearly a mistake, he could also tell she was mentally chastising herself from her closed eyes and gritted teeth. The girl looked as if she were waiting to be whipped. He looked off, sighing and placing the pen down. His minute stimulation had been cut extremely short by just the vocal mention of Valentina. Maribel's eyes opened when she heard him speak.

"She's...away." He answered, meeting her eyes and flashing a bitter, sarcastic grin, "Visiting her mother in London. It may be... an extended visit." He added, pressing his knuckles against mouth.

"Forgive me, monsieur, it is not my place. I-" She was stopped when he held his hand up.

"It's quite alright. You've done no harm," He silenced her, "Quite frankly we needed some...separation. I've not been myself as of late." He admitted, meeting her brown eyes with his pale blue orbs. "I've recently lost my father."

"I'm so sorry, monsieur." She spoke to the floor. It was more than obvious that the girl felt she had heard and said much more than what was appropriate and began to back away, "I will tell madame Claudette to bring your tea to you here."

"Thank you, my dear." He returned softly. He watched her as she left, reverting instantly back to his previous irritated state. He had much to do before he lost his light.

He continued his work, ignoring Claudette as she brought his tea, all the while retaining the hope that Maribel would return for one reason or another.

She didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Necessary Affair**

"Dinner is served, monsieur." J.F looked up from squinting at his finally shrinking work to be greeted with Gerard, the house butler. He hummed at his announcement, debating whether or not to leave his duties to dine. He was growing famished, truthfully enough, but he did not wish to wake the next morning with unfinished business.

"Thank you, Gerard," He sighed, wiggling his pen between his fingers, "But I think I will have to decline dinner this evening."

"Are you certain, monsieur?" He asked. It was a mere formality, his voice did not even hold a trace of emotion behind it, but J.F smiled, greatly appreciating even the most insincere concern.

"Yes, unfortunately. But could you have Bernadette to run me a bath, I have not yet completely lost my mind." He chuckled, seeing a faint smile crack the old man's face.

"No indeed, monsieur. Do you require anything else for this evening?" Villefort dropped his gaze, waiting as long as possible to answer.

"That will be all, Gerard. Goodnight." He hesitated. He would have enjoyed just having his company for a while, but Gerard was an old man and stood firmly on ceremony. He would never accept a social invitation from the man of the house, however small or private.

"Goodnight, monsieur." He returned before exiting quietly.

"Sir," Villefort jumped up hearing the barking voice at his door. It was and could only be Claudette.

"Dear God, what is it?" He asked just as loudly. As good a housekeeper as she was, the woman was astoundingly irritating. He cringed at everything about the old maid from her loud Caribbean talking to her endless nosiness. She acted as if she were the head of the house rather than he. Claudette was an irritation that he had to deal with however. She had moved in with Valentina when they were married and had been head housekeeper since. It had been eleven years and she still had not grown on him in the least, "I'm incredibly busy, can't you see that?"

"No, and neither can you." She barked again, nodding toward his window. She was absolutely right, the sun was nearly down and he had lit several candles to combat the advancing darkness in his study, but he ignored her. The hag worked his last nerve. She needed a good lashing, and he would have been more than glad to be the one who give it to her, but if Valentina were ever to return, he would never hear the end of it for having raised a hand to her. And somewhere in furthest recesses of his mind, he still held the hope that she _would_ return. "Your supper's in the dining room." Villefort's eyes closed hearing her speak. He dreaded to think that there existed an entire people who spoke as she did with dropped R's and ed's and with d's replacing th's.

"So I have been informed," he said lowly, "Now leave me." He grumbled hearing her humph before her heavy footsteps receded down the hall. He didn't plan on eating. He had convinced himself that he wasn't hungry by now, and even more so he did not want to give Claudette the satisfaction of admitting that it had grown too dark for him to continue working.

He spent several minutes sitting alone in the large and quiet room, refusing to leave out of sheer spite of the woman. He had not the state of mind to get back to the papers on his desk, nor had he the patience. More importantly, he simply did not have the light. His head had begun to throb already from the strain of reading in darkness. He sat there for several more minutes until his between maid, Bernadette, announced to him that his bath was ready. Only then did he finally leave his study, warning her sternly to extinguish the candles but not to lay a finger on his paperwork.

He trudged up the stairs, growing more tired with each one. J.F was more than disgusted with himself...his life was slowly becoming an empty shell, and as far as he could see, there was nothing he could do about it. He was not long away from divorce, he had no children of his own, and could take no solace in his friends. It depressed him greatly. More than he cared to admit. In the midst of his train of thought he had not noticed that he had wandered into his bedroom.

"Monsieur," he jumped at the same time as the young woman, "Excuse me, I did not know you had taken your bath so quickly," Maribel said quickly, turning down the bed as fast as she could.

"Lord in heaven, I'd completely forgotten," He stammered, "Pardon me, Maribel, it was my mistake. I hope I did not startle you." She lifted her gaze from his plush bed sheets and offered him a sheepish grin.

"Non, monsieur."

He scoffed, shrugging a shoulder, "I suppose I was more startled than you, wasn't I?" He mumbled to himself.

"Mais non, Monsieur Villefort," she beamed at him in the dimly lit bedchamber, "You were very brave." He laughed loudly when she curtsied.

"You flatter me, Maribel." He grinned at her as she completed her task and tucked her duster into her apron.

"May I do anything else for you?"

He lost himself momentarily when she asked him, "What?" He trailed, attempting to register her words, "Oh! Yes, as a matter of fact," He answered, "...How old are you, dear?"

She looked at him oddly, he assumed she was possibly considering lying to him, "Dix-neuf."

"Hmm..." His eyebrows creased. She looked younger than nineteen, but there was no reason, none he could find within his own logic, rather, that a woman would claim she was older than she actually was. "When was the last time you had alterations done for your clothes?"

"I do not understand..." She answered confused, _"'ul-teray-shon'?_" He stifled a snicker at her butchered pronunciation.

"No matter. From the looks of your skirts I would say it's been at least a year. You've grown about three inches." He explained, gesturing to her bare ankles. She glanced down, seeing what he had meant and bit her lip in embarrassment.

"_Excusez-moi de vous déranger_." She said quickly, attempting to leave.

"Oh, no n-no, wait-" He stopped her, pressing his fingertips into her abdomen. He removed his hand quickly when he realized his actions, "I'm sorry. I meant no offense, Maribel. I apologize if I've embarrassed you, I-I simply," He stopped himself before he was reduced to stuttering, "I have business tomorrow in the city," he started after a breath, "I'm going to see the seamstress while I'm there and have her come take your measurements...hopefully sometime this week, so she can make you new ones."

Her look of confusion remained, but slowly waned into pleasant surprise. He responded with a boyish grin in return.

"Why, monsieur?" She asked softly. He pulled his shoulders back, clasping his hands behind him.

"Because it is my wish to do so." He answered.

She bowed her head to him in gratitude, unsure of what to say.

"I believe I'll see to that bath, now," he straightened his jacket sleeves as he spoke, "Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, monsieur." She responded as he left, feeling the blood beginning to warm her ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Necessary Affair**

"Monsieur Villefort."

The prosecutor rolled his eyes. He had not even had adequate time to adjust his seat properly when his dim witted American file clerk barged in on him, "Yes, William, what is it?"

"You have a visitor, sir." The lanky redhead answered. Villefort waited for him to continue, and grew extremely agitated when he did not.

"Who is it?" He pressed.

"I... don't know, sir." The young man hesitated. J.F could feel his nostrils flaring. It took everything in him not to raise his voice to his employee.

"Then go and find out!" He spoke through his teeth.

"Oh, leave the boy in peace, James, I told him I would announce myself," Both of them turned, hearing Fernand Mondego before he entered the office, "I know how you do love surprises." He narrowed his eyes at the visitor, immediately suspicious as to his presence.

"Dear Mondego," He greeted as he stood, "And what a surprise it is. Come, sit," he gestured for the man to take a seat and nodded for William to leave them once he had.

"What are you doing here," Villefort asked lowly and sternly after the clerk was surely out of hearing range. A visit from Fernand Mondego was the last thing on an extensive list that the prosecutor needed on top of today.

"Don't be so short, James," he answered, a mischievous smile accompanied his words, "I merely wanted to pay a... _friendly_ visit to a... _favored_ acquaintance."

"Oddly enough," J.F. replied with slitted eyes, "Considering we specifically agreed to not meet socially."

Fernand leaned back into his chair, tapping his fingertips together, "Well, James... if it will ease your mind, let's not call this a social visit. Maybe... a business matter, perhaps?"

"What business matter could you possibly have with me, Mondego."

"You wound me, James. Please, call me Fernand." The young Count feigned offense. Villefort did not flinch.

"What business," he asked again.

"Just a few inquiries I wanted to make." Fernand had a glint in his eye, J.F noticed.

"Well, naturally, I'd like you out of my immediate vicinity," he responded, "So make them. Quickly."

"Very well," Fernand stood from his seated position and took his time leaning over the desk that separated them, "I couldn't help but notice your carriage in front of the Lady Gillete's shop this morning."

"And what business is that of yours?" J.F. answered firmly with his patience now completely gone.

"Oh, none. None at all..." Fernand trailed, "But you understand my curiosity at your presence at the shop of the seamstress... when your wife has not even been in the country for nearly three weeks, now."

"My affairs with the seamstress were a domestic matter." Villefort said through clenched teeth.

"Is that so. So your affairs are at your home then?" Fernand sat slowly, grinning smugly, "Perhaps with one of your countless maids," he paused when the words left him, his smile disappearing completely, "Good lord, it isn't with that wretched Claudette woman, is it?"

"If your intentions are to create a scandal of my name, you'll need much more to go on than a portly woman taking measurements of my chambermaids, _Fernand_."

"Oh calm down, James. Your name is safe. For God's sake, if it was a scandal I was after, I wouldn't have too far to go, would I? What with your plotting the murder of your father." He arched an eyebrow to the raven haired prosecutor.

"Leave my office, Mondego," he answered simply. J.F. watched as he stood and pivoted on his heel, "And if you ever do find the boldness to breathe a word about that business, please do bear in mind who planned... and who executed said plan."

He watched Fernand's back stiffen as before he exited, and forgetting himself entirely, threw the contents of his desk onto the floor.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

Villefort's glance shot up hearing William at the door.

"Did I call you in here?" he yelled across the office, "Get out, you idiot, and hope like hell you're still employed tomorrow!"

"...y-yes, sir," the young man's voice trembled after the echos of his employer died down, "My apologies, sir."

...

"Maribel, look!" Bernadette called to Maribel as they tidied the parlor, they both giggled when the older blonde between maid did her impersonation of a concert pianist, waving her coat tails behind her and dancing her fingers above the keys in an overly dramatic manner.

"Encore, encore!" she laughed, clapping her hands in enthusiasm.

"You silly girl, Bernadette plays only once. Now leave my concert hall." They laughed again, but their merriment waned, giving way to a longing admiration of the instrument.

"Can you really play?" she asked. Bernadette glanced at her younger friend and back to the keys.

"I used to. I've forgotten most of what I learned."

Maribel nodded, looking around at the large room. She hadn't really looked very well at the detail of the parlor before. Being the lady's servant, she spent most of her time closely behind Madame Villefort, helping her dress, running her baths, fixing her hair, announcing her visitors and cleaning the bedchamber among other things, but never much around the other parts of the house.

"What is this?" She asked, gesturing towards the foreign instrument on the opposite wall.

"What?"

"What are you both doing in here?" they both turned, hearing Claudette's voice tear through the room. They did not notice her presence after she had heard their giggling and conversing in their native language, and now they were both in trouble, "Bernadette, you come with me. Monsieur Villefort's due home any minute and you two are playing around, I should beat the both of you!"

Maribel watched as Bernadette followed reluctantly after their head housekeeper. The blonde scrunched her face at her friend, mocking Claudette as they exited and they both had to stifle their laughter as she disappeared from the doorway.

...

J.F did not make it home until after the sun had begun to sink in the sky, but he figured it was for the best. He wanted nothing more than to get something into his stomach and retreat to his bed. The day had served no other purpose but to try his nerves and patience. He also could detect the beginnings of a migrane. Gerard took his hat and coat when he stepped in and he immediately felt exhaustion overwhelm him.

He made immediately for his bedroom, but stopped when the sight of certain petite ankles caught his eye from the parlor. He made his way silently into the room, feeling a certain rejuvenation seeing her absently dusting the piano.

"There you are," he smiled when she turned to face him, "I spoke with the seamstress, she'll be here tomorrow."

"Merci, monsieur," she answered. She was distracted, he could see. He followed her gaze until it fell on the object of her infatuation.

"Does the cello interest you, Maribel?" he asked, crossing the room to the large stringed instrument.

"Cello. That is what it's called?"

He ran his fingers over the neck and nodded, "I used to play during my days at Cambridge... I haven't touched it in ages," his voice trailed as he spoke. He wondered why that was so. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that his work and his deteriorating relationship with his wife were somewhere in the cause. But he had truly loved the cello in his more youthful years, "I doubt it's even tuned, now," he said, now thinking aloud. He turned to see the young maid now beaming at him. He smiled back at her, marvelling in her ability to pique his curiosity so easily, "Would you like for me to play?"

"Oui, monsieur! Very much." She said. He nodded for her to sit and she hesitantly did so while he tuned the cello as best as his memory could serve him.

He watched her face light up when he blew the dust away from the bow before turning his full attention to the instrument in front of him. He pulled his playing chair closer and sat in it, lying the large instrument on his left shoulder, and relished at the familiarity of the process. He thought to ask her if she knew a song she would like to hear, but changed his mind fairly quickly once he positioned his fingers on the strings, seamlessly beginning the Prelude to Cello Suite No. 6. It had always been his favorite song.

He had initially been concerned that he may have forgotten some of his teachings, but surprised both Maribel and himself with his unscathed prowess. Soon enough he was lost in the music all together and he let his eyes sink closed while his hands took on lives of their own, dancing gracefully up and down the strings of the neck and sawing every note skillfully.

Maribel sat in awe as she witnessed her master's manipulation of the object, creating the most beautiful sounds she had heard with the movement of his fingers. She could hear the notes echoing throughout the large hallways and from the high ceiling and could not help but let her eyes flutter closed as well. It was unimaginable to her how Monsieur Villefort, as mean and scary as he was to everyone else, could be so soft and free as he seemed now. She could not even look into his face, but this moment he seemed a different man. No being who could make such sad, sweet noises could be as cold and distant as he seemed previously.

She did not hear the song coming to a close, and felt an emptiness when the final notes rang through the room, being replaced with silence.

J.F. looked up from the floor and felt butterflies in his stomach, seeing Maribel's shut eyes and her hands covering her heart.

She only did open her eyes when he stood, placing the cello, chair, and bow back in their rightful places. She leapt from her seated position, her hands frozen over her chest.

"Vous sont de magnifique."

James turned at her sudden declaration and found himself being even more drawn to her than before, "You are too kind, my girl."

"Non, monsieur!" she said, moving closer. He looked down into her warm eyes and realized that she was not merely flattering him. She reached between them, grabbing his large hand and placed it where hers had been. His eyebrows rose when he felt her heart racing underneath it.

"My dear..." he began. He had no idea as to what he could possibly say. His gaze was drawn back into hers when she covered his hand with both of hers.

"Sir,"

Maribel was away from him and back dusting the piano, more quickly than he could even react to the booming voice. He hadn't noticed until then how close they had been, or that his migrane, until then, had vanished completely.

"Yes, Claudette, I'll be in the dining room shortly," he answered sternly. She 'humphed' her disapproval before leaving, and while he was relieved that she was gone, he was also sure that the moment was lost... whatever the moment was and it left him with a distinct heavy regret.

"Maribel," he said softly, placing a hand on the piano beside her. She looked up at him, her face nearly glowing a rosy pink.

"Oui, monsieur." She answered. He grinned, seeing how she was reduced to once again not being able to look him in the face.

"Goodnight, my dear," he said before he exited the parlor to dine.

**TBC**


End file.
